


Bits and Pieces

by realismandromance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Godric's Hollow, Halloween, Hogwarts Third Year, Loss, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Names, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Third Person Limited, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realismandromance/pseuds/realismandromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated, canon compliant 'short shorts' (1000 words or fewer) that are too small to post alone, but don’t belong in another collection. Feel free to pick and choose. Currently taking requests via comments (refusal rights reserved).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There By My Side

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is a collection and not a true WIP, I've marked it 'complete', meaning that everything I add past the first one-shot is technically a bonus. Please excuse the confusion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Harry's disastrous Hogsmeade trip in third year, Ron and Hermione resolve to always be there for their friend.

'D'you - d'you think he's OK?' Ron asked quietly, nodding over at the door to the boys' dormitory.

Hermione shook her head. 'He's hardly ever been this quiet, except after meeting Dementors.' She hesitated, then said, 'We shouldn't leave him alone.' She turned her attention back to her mountain of homework, but Ron kept on talking.

'What, because you think he might go off his head? Give him some space, Hermione. You know he doesn't like people confronting him all the time.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'But it's not good for him to be alone,' she said distractedly, flipping through her copy of  _Numerology and Grammatica_. 'You've seen him when he gets his mind fixed on something. Before you know it, he'll be wanting to - to go after Black or something ...'

Ron stared at her, as if the idea had not occurred to him before. 'But that's stupid,' he said shakily. 'Black's a madman, he's dangerous, and even if he weren't already out to get Harry, Harry wouldn't stand a chance.'

Hermione nodded. 'You and I both know that. But Harry will be too upset to think straight.'

'So, what do you want to do? You want to go talk to him, or what?'

Hermione looked torn. She kept glancing between the door to the boys' dormitory and the stacks of books and parchment in front of her. Finally she said, ' _You_  talk to him, Ron; I've got to finish this essay and another tonight.'

'It's the holidays tomorrow, Hermione; you deserve a break ...' Ron trailed off when he saw that she was busily writing out line after line of Arithmancy homework, too intent on it to hear him. Sighing, he turned away from her, mounted the steps to the boys' dormitory and pushed the door open slowly.

'Harry?'

The dormitory was quiet. The hangings around Harry's four-poster bed were tightly drawn. Ron tiptoed around to the other side and saw Harry's glasses on his bedside cabinet. He shut the door behind him and rejoined Hermione. Drumming on the table to get her attention, he said, 'He's asleep.'

'How do you know?' Hermione said, stopping only to dip her quill in her inkwell.

'His glasses were off. Listen, Hermione, if you're so worried, we can talk to him about it tomorrow.'

Hermione nodded.

* * *

Ron awoke late the next morning to an almost-empty dormitory. It was the start of the Christmas break; Neville, Dean and Seamus had all left, leaving just him and Harry, who always stayed at Hogwarts as often as he could. And, speaking of him ...

The curtains around Harry's bed were still drawn.

'Harry?' said Ron cautiously, breaking the silence. 'Are you awake? Hermione and I want to talk to you.'

There was no answer. Ron counted to ten. When there was still no answer, he gave it up, got dressed and went downstairs.

'Goo- good morning,' said Hermione, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table, yawning into her toast as she tried to read a huge book called  _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles._  'I  _had_  to get up early; I've simply got loads of homework to get done,' she added, by way of explanation. 'How are you? Where's Harry?'

'I'm fine - Harry's still sleeping, though,' said Ron. 'Maybe he'll turn up soon.'

But Harry didn't appear at breakfast, either. Once they got back to the common room, Hermione immediately got down to business, filling three tables with books and parchment. Too pleased at the prospect of holidays to get any homework done, Ron threw himself into an armchair and watched the snow fall outside the windows. Before long, Hermione's ginger cat, Crookshanks, came down out of the cold dormitory and spread himself out on the rug in front of the cosy fireplace.

'You don't suppose he's avoiding us, do you?' Ron said finally, after over an hour of silence.

'He's just sleeping,' said Hermione, not ceasing to write.

'But it's past eleven o'clock! And he hardly ever sleeps in.'

'Yes, and how much time do you think he spent lying awake, just thinking about Black last night?'

'You're not still on about that!' Ron said, twisting around to stare at Hermione, who was scratching away at her parchment with a quill, oblivious to his gaze.

'Come on, Ron, he just heard that an escaped mass murderer betrayed his parents to You-Know-Who! Of course he's upset; he doesn't show it sometimes, is all.'

'So ... so what do you want to say to him? When he does come down, I mean.'

Hermione didn't answer, and Ron wasn't sure she had heard him. At last she said, 'Don't just jump into things without thinking ... don't do anything stupid, like trying to go after Black ...'

'Because Black may be a crazy murderer, but he isn't worth dying for,' said Ron, catching on. He grabbed a Peppermint Toad from a pile left behind on a table and ripped it open, thinking. He, Ron, was Harry's best friend in the world. Normally he disliked these sorts of uncomfortable subjects, but if it jolted Harry out of a stubborn streak and made him see reason, it would be worth it. If Harry reacted badly ... well, he and Hermione would always be there for him, and that was all that mattered.

'I'll go and wake him up if he doesn't come down soon,' he said to nobody in particular. Fortunately, he didn't need to. Harry stumbled into the common room a few minutes later, looking as if he hadn't slept all night.


	2. The Name Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An analysis of why Harry and Ginny chose the names for their children that they did.

Harry has always been  _too_  appreciative of heroic deeds, Ginny thinks. He was born to parents who thrice escaped and thrice defied Voldemort, parents who died in a flash of 'spirit, fire and dew', parents whom he glorifies and defends in a way that is astonishing when you remember he never knew them.

But, in a way, it is to be expected.

He grew up in a stifling environment, with people whose greatest desire was to be utterly ordinary, and who viewed him as the only barrier preventing them from reaching that ideal. In a constant act of rebellion, he learnt to dismiss the everyday and cling to the wonderful, the awe-inspiring, the fantastic, because how else was he supposed to cope?

Ron may think of himself as mediocre, but he is so much more than that in Harry's eyes – a constant source of amazement, a guide to assimilation into the wizarding world. He is friendly, funny, loyal and brave without the showy bravado. What other eleven-year-old would sacrifice himself in a giant game of wizard chess without a second thought? And he is also Harry's best friend.

Hermione, meanwhile, is the voice of reason, the one whose power and intellect is so honed that she constantly surprises them with her impressive hoard of knowledge, leading every single one of her classmates to call her a know-it-all (and Ron at least twice a week). Smart, sensible, courageous, ambitious, willing to break rules for the sake of her friends – she does not mean to make herself known, but cannot avoid it.

But Harry views himself as ordinary, the everyman. It will take him a long time to realise – to fully  _know_  just how extraordinary he is. Even then, he does not quite believe it. 'That was different … I had help … Anyone could have done it!'

At fifteen, he shies away from a girl who has completely understandable reactions (one would only have to be human to cry constantly after the sudden, traumatising death of her boyfriend). Instead, he falls in love with a fire-brand of a woman, least of all because of her bright red hair and mostly because of her whole demeanour. Bold and fearless, she keeps him grounded in reality, yet takes him to places he has never been.

And while Harry will remain forever fond of people like Lupin, Hagrid and even Ginny's own parents, they're not the ones he glorifies through fond remembrances and cherished truths. Lupin died as quietly as he lived: another fighter in the Battle of Hogwarts; Hagrid – Harry's first friend – remains whole in body and amiable in spirit; Arthur and Molly Weasley, though undoubtedly surrogate parents to Harry, hardly swooped out of nowhere with a tantalising hint of adventure –  _I'm your godfather; you can escape the Dursleys and come and live with me! How about that?_

But it's Ginny who notices the ones Harry passes over – it is through Ginny that Harry becomes close friends with Neville and Luna. While Harry, Ron and Hermione are away saving the world, the three of them – the manipulated, the bullied, the forgotten – revive Dumbledore's Army, launching a campaign against the Carrows and everything the Dark Lord stands for.

It's in Harry's nature to glorify the boldness that has taken him to where he is now, so he unconsciously passes over the mundane, the unassuming, leaving Ginny to see those he does not.

* * *

They name their first child James Sirius.

Ginny has never been a great hand for names – she was the one who named her brother's featherball of an owl  _Pigwidgeon_ , after all. And so, when she tells Harry that he can choose what they will call their first child, he picks the names of his father and godfather, who died in a blaze of glory, both defending him until the last. There's no doubt that they are worthy enough to be bestowed on their child, and yet … well, she's not bothered, so she lets it go.

And then, when Harry approaches Ginny while she is pregnant with their second child, and suggests the name  _Albus Severus_  (they already know this one will be another boy), she agrees again. She knows it's the right decision, even though her stomach gave a jolt upon hearing the name  _Severus_  – has Harry forgotten the many hours of torment he endured under Snape's command in Potions and Occlumency classes? To err is human; there is no doubt that Snape erred many times; to forgive is – well, not divine, just extraordinarily  _difficult_  to 'be the bigger man'. But if Harry can see nothing to forgive in Albus Dumbledore, perhaps the name  _Severus_  is not such an unexpected suggestion after all.

Because Harry has always,  _always_  been kind and forgiving. Like his mother, say those who knew him.

It comes as no surprise, two years later, when they are again talking over baby names – this time girl names, because they've both got a hunch she will be a girl – and Harry suggests the name _Lily_.

'For my mum,' he says, unnecessarily. 'But that's as far as I've got.'

'Wait – I've an idea,' Ginny answers. 'How about  _Luna_?'

She sees the surprise in Harry's eyes, the stark realisation that goes  _'I didn't even think of that!'_  And she knows why.

There's no telling what middle name he might have suggested. James and Lily were the defenders; Sirius, the guardian; Albus, the guide; and Severus, the protector; but by now Ginny has run out of possibilities. Luna is funny and insightful and wise and every bit a perfect candidate. They might have gone for the slightly stodgy  _Minerva_  – defender of Hogwarts and its students – but two names belonging to teachers are enough.

It is easy to raise a shrine to the dead. But Harry has trouble applying it to the living.


	3. Graveyard of Buried Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poem from Hermione's point of view, telling of the trip to Godric's Hollow.

Making our way through the snow  
Erasing our footprints as we go  
Looking for people buried here  
The night is cold; the air is clear

I think of the hopes from long ago  
Buried beneath the layers of snow  
Here

I miss my parents more than ever tonight  
But I cannot deny you your right  
To mourn your own this Christmas Eve  
I'll be by your side to help you grieve

I find the place where the Potters have lain  
Ever since the night they were slain

Their time was short upon this earth  
Yet, with their deaths, they proved their worth  
I wonder if this is all there is  
To meet, to love, to lose, to miss

I lay a wreath upon the grave  
Of the parents who died to save  
You

Who can tell what could have been?  
The possible past is forever unseen  
What does the future have in store for me?  
The path is tangled, as far as I see

As we turn to walk away  
I close my eyes, begin to pray:

For all the lost souls searching tonight  
Let them have some welcome respite  
Bring them home, wherever they be  
Oh, bring them home, wherever they be.


	4. Malfoy Misgivings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Narcissa Malfoy reveals the extent of her distrust and desperation.

_'I am always with you.'_

The shallow words, however genuine, did not convince Narcissa Malfoy as she stood in front of the full-length mirror, the five words echoing in her head as she stared without seeing at her own reflection. If she shut her eyes, she could almost believe he stood beside her, his hands around her waist, his slick blond hair glinting in the shadowy lighting of their home.

That was what he'd said to her, his last words, just before he left for the Ministry. Since then, Azkaban had claimed another: first Bella – though she'd escaped – and now Lucius. She could not bear to think of losing her only son too.

Aristocratic features and an artificial smile. Some thought it strange how Narcissa alone of her immediate family did not don the silver mask, had never pledged loyalty to the Dark Lord in a vow sealed by a mark on her forearm and a fear in her soul. It was a line she would never cross, because it meant putting aside her dignity to serve a master who could and would throw her aside at a moment's notice. If choosing family and honour meant renouncing the man her husband served, it was what had to be. She was not a Gryffindor; she held no high ideals of blind loyalty – hers was a personal kind, a fire burning beneath her icy exterior.

She drew the line at one boundary; Lucius had drawn it at another. Never mind; they had to stay together or risk everything they had worked for. Albus Dumbledore was wrong. There was no choice between right and easy. There was only a choice between death and life, hunter or hunted, stalking or surviving.

She could only hope her husband and son chose the same as she.

* * *

Narcissa loved Lucius, of course, but that was not to say that she agreed with all of his choices. When she heard how he had fallen out of favour with the Dark Lord by throwing away that confounded diary on the Weasley girl, she nearly went wild. How could he be thinking of buying favour when there was so much at stake, so much left to chance? Of course, the Dark Lord was growing powerful now, but he'd been defeated before – there was no reason why it should not happen again. And Lucius was too short-sighted to see that, but instead purchased power at a high price, one that she did not care to pay.

There were many times – long, lonely nights – when she doubted whether he loved her in return.

* * *

_'You're such a softy, Cissy!'_

They were careless words, ones that Bellatrix had forgotten next moment, but ones that cut deeply, for even Andromeda had laughed and agreed –  _Andromeda_ , whom Narcissa had not thought of in years – Andromeda, whom Narcissa had once counted as her favourite sister. Back then, she had looked upon the words as deeply unfair; now, years later, she saw them as more unjust still.

Perhaps she  _was_  a softy – what a silly word! – but all the same, that didn't mean that she couldn't change the course of the war, or even the deadly course she and her family were taking. To do that, she had to protect Draco.

_When I was sixteen,_  she thought, with a twinge of regret,  _I thought I was invulnerable._  And she knew her own son well enough to fear the same in him.

_'There is nothing I wouldn't do anymore!'_

So she made the Unbreakable Vow. Perhaps this, if nothing else, would ensure he emerged from the war unharmed, even after being punished for his father's mistakes.  _Oh, Lucius, what have you done?_

_'Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?'_

His whispered  _'Yes'_  was reason enough for her to spare his life. She straightened and cried the words of the Dark Lord's apparent victory ( _'He is dead!'_ ) while calculating desperately where to go from there.

_It's over_ , she thought,  _it's finally over. The Potter boy's alive, and he just may win the war after all … but I don't care what happens as long as we stay together. Whatever happens, we will survive._

In his usual slippery fashion, Lucius would manage to escape conviction, and she, Narcissa, would forever be grateful to one Harry Potter for his testimony in her and Draco's favour. But that was all in the future. Now, she permitted herself to imagine a Malfoy Manor untarnished and whole again, free from the taint of torture and containing a happy family: Lucius, Draco and herself. Someday, she hoped, it would be a reality.

And then, and  _then_ , she'd no longer have to imagine Lucius's arms around her, and those longed-for words, true at last, would not just be recounted in her head, but on his lips as well:

_'I am always with you.'_


	5. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of Halloween in 1981, a boy named Harry Potter cheated Death.

_'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'_  (1 Corinthians 15:26, KJV)

* * *

Come with me, and I can take you on the next great adventure …

Who am I? Take a guess. If I haven't visited you, I've likely come to escort away somebody you once knew – whether family members, friends, friends of friends, rich, poor, young or old, they all come face to face with me in the end.

Often it's the youngest ones that are the heaviest, not because of the force it takes to carry them away, but because of the terrible grief they leave in their wake. That is not to say the elderly are not missed. They are, but their passing is seen as inevitable. They've had their fill; it is time to move and see whatever lies beyond the veil.

If you stay awake, you may be able to catch a glimpse of me. Be careful! I tread lightly, but when I strike, I do not return what has left the body. Oh, I've been cheated once or twice, and defeated properly exactly once. And, of course, a boy whom I'd been sure was mine to take away was saved by his mother throwing herself in the path of certain death, simply because he was _her_  son and deserved so much to live. I managed to get both her and her husband, but the son eluded me.

For years he frustrated me. I can't deny I would have wanted the set, had it been made available to me. The mother changed all that by sacrificing her life for the sake of her son. I could not touch him. But he had been touched by me as surely as he had been marked by the one who had attempted to kill him; their fates were inextricably intertwined, but I remained the true winner. _Neither can live while the other survives_  … well, one of them would have to kill the other in the end. It was always meant to be that way.

And yet, this boy, he wanted so much to survive, to  _live_ , that it seemed almost cruel to keep an eye on him, watch his every step lest he suddenly stumble and fall my way. And he came so close! I could not ignore his strength, his determination; too often, I stole away those close to him, yet he never gave up. Only when he summoned his mother and his father and the stubbornest of friends back to his side from my own dominion did he greet me as though greeting an old friend. But he failed  _again_ , and I was forced to be content with a shattered husk of a man – his enemy.

Harry Potter, I know you've heard of me. I'm not or young, neither sprightly nor weary. But I am  _here_ , and I am waiting. Death is but the next great adventure, so they say. Why not come with me? I'm not going anywhere, and we have all the time in the world.


	6. Happy Eighteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Lily Evans' birthday, but her boyfriend, James, has never been good at presents.

Her birthday was on the thirtieth of January. She told him this once, casually, skipping on to a new topic in another second, but he saved the information and stored it in his brain the way he'd been memorising insignificant, intricate details about her ever since that day they'd met on the Hogwarts Express. And sometimes not just information, but lovable quirks, like how she touched her thumb to her mouth while thinking hard or pressed her lips together when trying not to laugh.

'So, what do you think?' James asked.

Remus held the birthday card, while Sirius read it over his shoulder and Peter peered from beside him.

'It's a bit … sentimental,' said Remus, wincing slightly and passing it over. 'Here, Sirius, you read it properly.'

'You're being too soft on him, Moony,' said Sirius a minute later. 'This is the soppiest thing I've ever read.'

'But will she like it?' James asked, trying and failing to look unconcerned.

'Hey, I'm not the one who's been dating her for months,' answered Sirius. ' _You_ should be able to answer that, not me.'

But James couldn't. He woke early on the morning of Lily's birthday, dressed quickly and dashed down to the common room, his stomach churning madly. This was worse than the nerves before a Quidditch game that he claimed he didn't get. He liked to think he understood girls pretty well, but Lily Evans was another enigma completely. But he tried to keep his jitters from showing on his face. Fancy other people knowing that the great James Potter could be cowed by his girlfriend's birthday! It didn't bear thinking about.

To his despair, the common room was half full by the time the door to the girls' dormitory opened and revealed the one he had been waiting for.

'Hey,' he said, waylaying her.

'Good morning to you too,' said Lily. Her green eyes were especially bright, and James was sure her demure-looking mouth was teasingly mocking him.

'I … er … just wanted to …'

'Yes?'

'I have something for you,' James said in a rush.

Lily frowned. 'You're two weeks early for Valentine's Day, you know.' From the sniggers that erupted around the common room, she could tell just how many people were eavesdropping on them.

'Come on,' she said, hooking her arm into his. 'Let's find somewhere else, then you can tell me.'

Once they had entered a disused classroom not far from Gryffindor Tower, she shut the door, turned to him and crossed her arms.

'So, what is it?'

James took a deep breath. 'Happy eighteenth.'

For once, she didn't have a witty comeback, or even anything at all to say. Her mouth simply dropped open.

'I didn't think you'd remember!'

'Yeah, well, anyway, I was trying to figure out what to get you, and nothing seemed right, but I couldn't just _forget_ , because this is your first birthday since we started snogging repeatedly –'

'– it's called "dating", you know –'

'– anyway, I couldn't find anything that was good enough, so …' Steeling himself, James pulled the card out of his pocket before he could babble any longer. 'Er … I made this for you.'

'What is this, primary school?' were the words on Lily's lips as she took the envelope, but she settled for pursing her lips instead. When she had finished reading, she looked up at James with the trace of a smile on her lips.

'That is the soppiest thing I've ever read,' she informed him. 'And you signed it "your favourite boyfriend". Just what are you implying, James?'

'Nothing!' James yelped. 'I mean, I meant to write "your favourite", but then I thought you were going to say I was being all stupid again, so I decided to go with "your boyfriend", and the two somehow got mixed up, and … and then I ended up with that. I'm, er … really bad at presents or planning or surprises … you know that from Christmas …'

'So, the _wonderful_ James Potter can't form a coherent speech when he's got his mind on his girlfriend?' said Lily, and James wasn't sure at first whether she was referring to his current tongue-muddled state or his apparent inability to sign a birthday card properly. 'You could have just signed your name, you know. Or got a new parchment. Or spelled away your mistakes.'

James ran a hand through his already messy hair. 'But I _want_ to be your favourite – I mean, your boyfriend – er, I mean, yours. I want to be yours. Or am I already?'

'You tell me,' she said softly, reaching around his neck and pulling him closer. He could feel her breath tickling his nose.

'Oh, stuff it, here's your proper present,' he said hurriedly, drawing her nearer to him, the card forgotten as their lips met in a kiss.


End file.
